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It may be doubtful to understand but where I grew up the Killa Bees had a huge impact. In Fairbanks, Alaska, year 1998 in the frozen north, kids of Alaskan-native, African-American, and Caucasian backgrounds came together in one voice, one color, one-creed. Adolescents were beat like adults for giving the wrong looks, trash talk was unacceptable, and respect was given only to those who nodded the beat of tolerance.

In a world full of hate the shaolin technique bounced not into the ears but into the hearts of a group of kids who were the least likely to understand the city life. Stereotyped as a barren winter land populated only by igloos, Eskimos, and moose, many are unable to last in the everyday game of survival. Guns, drugs, thugs, and respected members of society coexist planning each day as one would strategize a game of chess. Every move must be predetermined to conquer the elements, ensuring the king’s survival if left alone in a world of destruction.

Unbeknownst to civilizations, regardless of your birthplace every soul eats from the same bowl of struggle soup. My love for the written word has been inspired through personal scraps to feed my family while battling life’s setbacks. I am going to war with life harder than ever, but I am balanced in my thoughts. With the greater responsibilities encountered, my happiness has become unmeasurable. Respect to those who smash adversity and rise above social expectations.